


Honeydew

by neverminetohold



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Crossover, Disabled Character, Lucid Dreaming (?), M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Explicit Sex, Pre-Canon, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki whispered words into his ruined skin, each tone a thrumming pulse of power, magic soaring, carrying Thranduil away into sweet oblivion...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeydew

Thranduil stopped, the shift in atmosphere like a wall before him.  
  
He tilted his head, listening. The clearing, seemingly empty, was full of hidden life. He could hear the scuttling of tiny claws on bark, wind ruffling leaves and feathers, the insistent buzz of bees. A slight frown marred his brow, his new limitations a bother and unwelcome. His hollow eye socket throbbed at the thought, scar tissue smarting. It ran down the length of his body, towards the soil beneath his feet.  
  
"Mhmmm."  
  
Thranduil's hand dropped to his sword. The moan had been one of delight, accompanied by another sound, wet and dragging, the licking of luscious lips, perhaps. Something crunched, crumbs falling, a piece torn away, and the smell of honey and wax rose into the air. There was a rustling of cloth and scratch of armor, directly overhead, nails dragging delicately on wood in search for a better hold.  
  
Thranduil looked up, seeing nothing but a haze of colors, though a vibrant green stood out amongst them, surrounded by flickers of tiny lives. "Who are you, that you dare trespass upon my realm?"  
  
"I am Loki," a soft voice answered, gentle and coaxing, stinging with only a hint of casual cruelty. "It is an honor to meet you, Thranduil Elvenking."  
  
"You know of me?"  
  
A chuckle, and hum, and the bees followed it, circling the intruder in swirling patterns, drunken with cheer and sleepy by turn, not enraged as they should be; their hive robbed. "I know a crown when I see one, and yours is growing with the blessing of nature. Charred it may be, but it will bloom again. Have no fear."  
  
Thranduil raised his chin at such presumptions, ill at ease with this stranger that exuded magic as chilling as ice, alien to all that was of Middle-Earth. "I fear nothing."  
  
"That would make you a fool, and I know you to be wiser than that," Loki said, a grin stretching the tone of his voice to match the curl of his lips.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
Thranduil did not expect an answer, almost certain now that his mind had wandered, leaving his body behind to enter the realm that lay beyond sleep. Here memories could be revisited or shaped from nothing as one saw fit. It would not have surprised him, had a spark of passion for wonders from the Far Shore, cradled in the boughs of the silver-lined tree, survived the days of his youth. Solace was something he greedily longed for, so unbearable was the pity of his kin.  
  
"I am hiding."  
  
"As a thief should," Thranduil said darkly, and a laugh that prickled down his spine was his reward. "From whom?"  
  
"People who claim to be family and friends, yet seek to do me harm." Cloth rustled, almost certainly a careless shrug. "It's messy." Another laugh. "I thrive on it."  
  
"A beautiful lie, for a child as lonely as you.”  
  
Thranduil moved closer, saddened to hear such pain and bitterness in a voice as rich with life as Loki's. He sat down on a cushion of moss, head falling back against a raised root, smelling resin and another wave of fresh honey.  
  
"Your hair is like molten gold."  
  
He did not move nor startle when a body was suddenly pressed close to his, cool and sinuous, sleek muscles and silky skin, torn from the fabric of reality and reassembled in a burst of dark mist.  
  
"You're not dreaming," Loki whispered against his lips, each word sweetened with the flavor of his spoils.  
  
Thranduil saw a spark of black and touched it, fingers tangling in soft hair. "Then do not wake me."  
  
"Fool," Loki hissed, but allowed himself to be pulled near, to become a tangle of limbs.  
  
Their kiss was harsh, like sucking poison from a wound, drawing forth blood and something wild. Blades of grass tickled naked skin, as minutes gave way to hours.

Thranduil tensed. His scars were displayed in the unforgiving light of the sun, puckered and red, raw as if still bleeding, hideous. The thought alone was enough to douse the fire in his veins, that had been so much more welcome than a dragon's acid.  
  
"I will not lie with a broken bird." Loki's scorn was biting. "Will you allow yourself to be reduced to this? Did you not face that dragon to save your kin? Are you not a king?"  
  
It touched something within Thranduil, who may have heard the words but felt their true meaning at the core of his being. This pain was exquisite, like a precious thing lost.  
  
"Would you?"  
  
He felt a smile pressed into the valley of his torn side, muscles twitching out of control at the touch of a clever tongue.  
  
"Never."  
  
And then Loki whispered words into his ruined skin, each tone a thrumming pulse of power, magic soaring, carrying Thranduil away into sweet oblivion.


End file.
